


We Haven't Met Yet

by doodledinmypants



Series: The Right Order (Jigen/Oscar) [1]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: (most of the misogyny is from Oscar and is part of flashbacks), Altered Memories, Attempted Sexual Assault, Background Relationships, Bittersweet Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Cruising, Dubious Consent, Fantasized sexual assault, Fix-It of Sorts, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Implied Past Child Abuse, Jigen PoV, Jigen is a good guy, M/M, Misogyny, One-sided Oscar/Zenigata, PTSD, Past Brainwashing, Porn with plot and feelings, Referenced incestuous one-sided infatuation, SPOILERS for The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, Somewhat infantilizing language used for Oscar, TWCFM, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, alcohol use, bad sex in a bar restroom, but he's not okay either, includes cover art, mentioned past experimentation, past forced drugging, recovery from psychological trauma, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29751996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodledinmypants/pseuds/doodledinmypants
Summary: In the end, Jigen decided it didn’t matter what Oscar had done; he needed someone to calm him down, and right now all he had was Jigen.“Hey,” Jigen said, keeping his voice low and soft. “Shh. Hey, it’s all right. We won’t go to the police. I don’t like ‘em, either. Come here, you’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”...After the events of The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, Jigen finds a homeless young man named Oscar and tries to help him. But the things that are wrong with Oscar can't be fixed so easily.
Relationships: Jigen Daisuke/Zenigata Oscar, Lieutenant Oscar/Jigen Daisuke
Series: The Right Order (Jigen/Oscar) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186679
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Hazza and Squid for beta-reading and cheerleading throughout this process. Much love! <3
> 
> SPOILERS FOR THE WOMAN CALLED FUJIKO MINE AHEAD! (Also spoilers for the fic, because I don't like to spring even dubious consent on the unwary.)  
> *  
> *  
> *  
> *  
> *  
> I know Oscar is not a favorite for most folks, but bear with me here. I think he's as much of a victim, if not more so, as Fujiko herself or even Aisha. It is heavily implied that the 'owls' may have got a hold of Oscar as a young child and put him through the same torture and memory experiments as the other children. It explains (though does not excuse) much of his behavior, including his unrequited feelings for Zenigata, the only actual father figure he's had. With that in mind, I'm trying to give Oscar some closure in this fic. I hesitate to call it 'fix it fic' or even 'giving Oscar a happy ending,' because it's not happy, and it's not an ending so much as it is a new beginning. But he does make a new friend and get a chance to begin healing, and that's more than the show gave him. His last scene shows us he's alive, but nothing that comes after that. 
> 
> Anyway, mind the tags. Things don't really get darker than the show itself, and you really should watch The Woman Called Fujiko Mine before getting into this fic. If you haven't, some parts that are referenced may be confusing, but hopefully the story is still enjoyable if you're willing to skip past the show anyway. This is a bit softer than TWCFM, though there is still some potentially disturbing content, including a fairly mild sexual assault attempt (Oscar kisses Jigen and tries to offer him sex when he's not in a good state of mind), briefly fantasized somnophilia/sexual assault of a sleeping person, and some (otherwise consensual) sex between a man who is drunk and a man who is not fully certain if his experiences are reality or implanted memories. These are all uncomfortable gray areas on purpose--not to justify them, but to illustrate that these two characters are both pretty fucked up, for different reasons, and they're not trying to hurt each other but they're not exactly practicing good consent here. Also this takes place in the late 60's/early 70's, vaguely. I'm no expert on how gay culture looked during that period in France, so any inaccuracies are entirely my fault. Just remember that TWCFM is basically an AU where Fujiko fucked a hot Fidel Castro stand-in, and Goemon averted WWIII by cutting missiles with his katana. 
> 
> All that said, I hope you enjoy the story!

  
Jigen went out to buy more wine with the money Lupin had so generously left him in the Paris apartment. It was a ridiculous amount, enough to keep Jigen fed for months. So, naturally, he made sure he kept the wine supply in the kitchen stocked—and, naturally, since he drank so much of it, he had to keep restocking. 

Along the way to the store, he heard a noise in an alley. At first he thought it was an animal. Instead, it was some bedraggled, filthy kid sleeping rough under a cardboard box. Jigen had been that kid before. He was about to move on, mind his own business, when the kid called out in their sleep: “Lupin! I’ll get…”

Jigen stepped cautiously closer, frowning. How did this kid know Lupin? Upon closer inspection, the ‘kid’ was actually an adult, although still younger than Jigen. Their delicate features could have belonged to a man or a woman, and their frail-seeming body made Jigen think they wouldn’t last long on the streets. Whatever clothing they had been wearing was now tattered to bare scraps and stained with brown river mud, or worse. They were barefoot.

In their sleep, they whimpered something about “Inspector Zenigata,” and Jigen tensed. This was not the voice of someone who was afraid of being arrested, though; this was a fear born of respect, as well as a raw, suffering longing that made Jigen’s own heart clench.

Jigen squatted on his heels and shuffled closer to console the young stranger, maybe convince them to get up and find a better place to sleep, but the kid growled at him and opened fierce blue eyes. “Bitch!” they snarled, seeing someone else where Jigen was crouched. They lashed out with ragged fingernails and caught Jigen across one cheek, raking thin red lines in the skin. “Sow! Spittoon!”

“That’s enough,” Jigen grunted, catching a skinny wrist in his hand and twisting the kid’s arm behind their back. They gave a thin, mewling cry of pain and collapsed onto the dirty pavement. They were weak. Maybe sick. Jigen updated his assessment of their chances of survival: they wouldn’t last the night out here.

That settled matters, then. 


	2. Chapter 2

The lock clicked and Jigen shouldered the door open. Cradled in his arms like a new bride was the young person he’d found in the alley. Jigen kicked the door shut and took his burden straight to the bathroom, setting them gingerly in the tub. They were so frighteningly light, as if they had hollow bones, like a bird. 

Jigen took out his pocket knife and set to work cutting away the dirty, crusted rags they wore. Where he could see skin, it was pale, littered with bruises and shallow cuts. Most striking of all was the enormous, geometric tattoo—or was it a scar?—that spanned the right half of their torso. Something twisted in Jigen’s gut. Pity, and guilt. Recognition. This kid had been through a lot already. They probably wouldn’t be thrilled to wake up to a strange man cutting their clothes off in a bathtub. It couldn’t be helped, though. 

The apartment wasn’t glamorous, but it had hot running water and all of the other basic amenities one could need. Jigen rolled up his shirt sleeves and turned on the bath taps, adjusting them until the water ran warm, but not too hot. He didn’t plug the drain. Instead, he used a plastic pitcher from the kitchen to pour water over the kid and rinse away the worst of the filth. Their injuries didn’t look quite so dire once they were cleaner—the cuts were already scabbed over on their own, and nothing seemed infected. When the swirling brown water ran mostly clear, Jigen plugged the tub and let it fill about halfway. He didn’t want to drown the kid if he looked away for a moment. 

Jigen grabbed a bar of soap and worked it into a lather against a washcloth. Carefully, he wiped away the grime on the kid’s face. They were even prettier when they weren’t streaked with mud, certainly pretty enough to be assumed a girl. Their body looked male, however, and though Jigen had known people who were born with a male body but lived as women, and vice versa, he defaulted to what evidence he had until he was told otherwise. With those intensely blue eyes and dark curls, the kid—the young man, rather—reminded Jigen of a porcelain doll. Jigen estimated he was anywhere between seventeen and twenty-five years old (he’d never been very good at guessing ages).

Jigen washed him as efficiently as he could, even working some soap into the matted ash-colored curls and rinsing them clean. Then, grabbing an armload of towels, he bundled him up in them and carried him to the bedroom. There was one bed, Lupin’s, but Jigen had been sleeping on the couch. 

Toweling the young man dry, Jigen dug some spare clothing out of the dresser drawers. They were some of Lupin’s things, but he and Jigen were close enough in size that Jigen had just been borrowing what he needed in between laundering his own clothes. He considered taking some of his ‘pocket money’ and buying himself another suit or two. Maybe he should get some clothes for this kid, too. Anything had to be better than the rags that Jigen had literally had to cut off of him. Those now resided in the trash bin where they belonged. Jigen found a nearly new black t-shirt and a pair of striped boxer shorts. They would have to do. He tugged them onto the unresponsive body, only his breathing and occasional muttering giving Jigen a sign that he was still alive. Even though Lupin was skinny, the boxers hung loosely on his narrow hips, and the t-shirt could have fit two of him. Jigen frowned. This petite, birdlike boy couldn’t have been on the streets for very long. Maybe a week or two, tops. Jigen couldn’t imagine him surviving on his own for longer than that. 

Well. He could stay the night, and then Jigen would see about finding him a safe place to go in the morning. Surely there were shelters, or maybe a hospital that would take him? A church? 

The phone rang. Jigen flinched at the sound, so loud in the quiet apartment. Dragging a blanket over his sleeping charge, Jigen hurried to the living room before the noise could wake the young man. He picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Jigen! You sound out of breath, did I interrupt something?” There was a leer in Lupin’s voice. 

Jigen grunted. “Not really. Just cleaning up a stray I found. Whaddya want?”

“I told you I’d check in once in a while, so here I am. A stray, you say? Well, just don’t let it pee on the carpet or destroy the furniture—I like staying on the landlady’s good side. I hope you’re not planning to keep it. Guys in our line of work can’t afford to be dragging pets around.”

“No, yeah, I get it. Just wanted to get him cleaned up and help him find a good home. Scratched me up pretty good.” Let Lupin think that he meant a cat. Jigen wasn’t sure how Lupin would take him dragging random unconscious homeless men back to the hideout. He rubbed at his stinging cheek. The skin wasn’t broken and the lines were fading already. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re kind of a softie, deep down, huh?” Lupin chuckled over the line. 

Jigen bristled. “Shut up.”

“Haven’t drunk all your allowance, have you?”

“No, and don’t talk about me like I’m your ‘kept man,’ or whatever.” 

“Aww, but aren’t you?” Jigen flushed at the sultry purr in Lupin’s voice. “You’re staying in my apartment, spending my money, just waiting for Daddy to come home…”

“Everything’s fine here. Don’t call me unless you need something.” Jigen hung up, scowling. “That fuckin’ guy…”

When he turned around, he felt a jolt of surprise at seeing the young man standing there like a ghost, just at the entrance to the living room. His damp curls hung limp around his thin, pointed face, and his blue eyes looked enormous. Jigen forced his hand to drop to his side, away from where it had drifted to the Magnum tucked in the back of his waistband. “Oh, hey. You’re awake.”

“Was the man on the phone your boss, or your father?” he asked, giving Jigen a shrewd look. He’d obviously heard at least part of Lupin’s side of the conversation.

“Neither,” Jigen growled. He took a deep breath. “What’s your name, kid?”

He didn’t answer at first, looking down at the floor. “Does it matter?”

“Well, not really, I guess. But it’d be nice to call you something other than ‘kid’ or ‘stray cat.’ My name’s Daisuke Jigen.”

Something like recognition flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before Jigen could wonder about it. “Oscar.”

Did Jigen know that name? It was common enough here in France. “All right, Oscar. You’re safe here. You want something to eat?”

“Safe,” Oscar echoed quietly, gaze sliding away from Jigen to take in the rest of the apartment. “You brought me here?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Jigen scratched at the back of his head. He could use a bath himself, he decided. “Tell you the truth? I don’t know. You looked like you needed help. You can leave any time you want, though. I can find you some pants, maybe some shoes—”

“No, it’s… that’s fine. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.” Oscar nodded politely. “Thank you. I  _ am _ hungry.”

With a half-smile, Jigen nodded back. “That’s something I can fix.”


	3. Chapter 3

Oscar refused to sleep in the bed, insisting on the couch. Jigen could relate—he preferred the couch himself because it felt safer having something like a wall at his back. Not wanting to argue over something so trivial, Jigen let him have his way. Aside from their brief conversations before and during dinner, Oscar was mostly silent. He would spend long moments staring at seemingly nothing. Jigen could see something behind those wide, haunted eyes, though. When Jigen retired for the night, he left Oscar to his own devices on the couch.

The bed still smelled like Lupin, if Jigen turned his face into the pillows and inhaled deeply enough. Those shitty French cigarettes, sweat, and a sour, vinegary odor. The man had a face like a monkey and was smelly, too. Jigen scoffed. He inhaled again as his hand dipped into his underwear to stroke himself to hardness. It wasn’t ideal, and Lupin wasn’t even really his type, but he’d take what he could get. He couldn’t stop hearing that purr in his ear:  _ just waiting for Daddy to come home… _

Before he could finish, he heard the door creak open. Jigen’s left hand stopped moving and his right curled around the Magnum tucked beneath the pillow. Oscar’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. Jigen exhaled shakily but kept hold of his gun and released his dick slowly, trying not to make it obvious. “What’s wrong, Oscar?”

Instead of answering, the boy approached the bed, lifted the edge of the duvet, and crawled under it. Jigen scuttled back to make room, mouth opening to object, but his words were muffled by a pair of soft, startlingly plush lips pressed against his own. 

It wasn’t necessary to cock the hammer back on his pistol to shoot it, but Jigen found it made a very effective warning sound. Oscar froze. When he pulled back, their lips were connected by a thread of saliva, which broke as Oscar sucked his own lower lip into his mouth. He gazed up at Jigen like a guilty child. 

“What are you doing?” Jigen asked, trying to keep his voice stern and steady, but the faintest tremor gave him away. 

“Thanking you,” Oscar said, as if it should be obvious. His eyes looked glassy, feverish. The words tumbled out of him like he wasn’t really aware he was saying them. “You like men, don’t you? And even if you didn’t, you could pretend I’m a girl. I wouldn’t mind.”

Jigen’s face was on fire. Teeth clenching so hard they hurt, he snarled, “Get.  _ Out.” _

He meant the bedroom, but by Oscar’s fearful expression, he’d taken it to mean more than that. Oscar turned and ran like the devil himself were on his heels. Jigen swore, eased the hammer back down, and took off after him. Oscar had yanked the front door open a few inches by the time Jigen caught up and slammed it shut. There was a breathless, trembling moment where Oscar was pinned between Jigen and the door, Jigen’s hand planted inches from his face. 

Slowly, carefully, Jigen dropped his hand and stepped back. “Sorry,” he forced himself to say. “I only meant… You don’t have to leave the apartment. Not in the middle of the night, with just that on.”

Oscar still wore the t-shirt and boxers Jigen had dressed him in after his bath. He was shaking all over, face and chest pressed against the door, shoulders hitched up by his ears. His voice was terribly small when he said: “Was I bad?”

“No,” Jigen said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. “I was just startled. I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry. I…” Jigen made a frustrated sound, trying to find his words. “Don’t  _ do _ that, okay? You don’t have to thank me. Not like that, or any other way. Tomorrow, we’ll find somewhere else for you to get some help. Maybe a hospital, or the police—”

Oscar suddenly wailed and crumpled to the floor, curling in on himself and covering his head with his arms as though he expected to be struck. “No, no nonono! Not the police! Not  _ him!  _ I can’t! My shining black gem—! I’ve lost him forever…”

After that, he stopped making any kind of sense, sobbing and carrying on in barely intelligible French. Jigen stood there, at a loss for what to do. When women and children cried, they liked to be held and comforted, but what was he supposed to do with this young man who’d just tried to seduce him? In the end, Jigen decided it didn’t matter what Oscar had done; he needed someone to calm him down, and right now all he had was Jigen.

“Hey,” Jigen said, keeping his voice low and soft. “Shh. Hey, it’s all right. We won’t go to the police. I don’t like ‘em, either. Come here, you’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

Gradually, he coaxed Oscar away from the door and into his arms, where his crying subsided into whimpers and wet hiccups. Jigen held him and rocked him from side to side, petting his hair. Oscar’s tears soaked the front of his shirt. At that moment, Jigen knew it wouldn’t be as simple as dropping this kid off in front of a monastery while he slept, or even turning him back out onto the street. Something inside Oscar was deeply troubled, and until Jigen could be sure that he’d found the help Oscar really needed, he wouldn’t feel right abandoning him. That protective instinct reared up in him as surely as it had with Cicciolina, or the painted girl, or his own sister and brother.

Besides, Oscar knew Lupin, and that police inspector, Zenigata. The mystery of  _ how _ wasn’t going to leave him alone so easily.

“Come on,” Jigen said, and scooped Oscar into his arms again. He didn’t weigh any more than he had previously, but the way he thrashed in panic at first nearly made Jigen drop him. “Hey, calm down! I’m just taking you back to bed.”

Oscar stilled, and Jigen blushed, corrected himself: “To the couch, I mean.”

But when Jigen brought him to the couch, Oscar clung to him like a koala and wouldn’t let go. So, Jigen sighed and brought him back to the bedroom after all. It wasn’t until he’d settled them both against the pillows and pulled the covers up that Oscar relaxed his grip slightly. Within seconds, he was asleep. Jigen watched him breathing deeply, tear-stained face slack and beautiful in spite of everything, and tried to quell the pounding of his own heart. 

_ What the hell am I doing? _ Jigen wondered.


	4. Chapter 4

Oscar slept fitfully throughout the night and most of the next day. His skin felt feverish and sweaty. Jigen didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone, but they really were going to need more food if he was going to be cooking for two, and he wanted to give Oscar something to wear that fit him a little better. He made his best guesses as to Oscar’s measurements without actually touching him. Jigen left a sandwich and a glass of water on the bedside table along with a note, then locked up the apartment.

He hit the nearest department store first. Socks and underwear, a couple pairs of trousers and a belt, a few shirts, a set of pajamas, a warm but lightweight jacket, and a pair of sturdy boots. Jigen had no idea what kinds of styles Oscar liked, so he kept it to simple cuts and solid, dark colors.

While he was there, he picked up a few things for himself. His own boots were wearing thin at the soles, so he grabbed a pair of the same kind he’d picked up for Oscar. There was a display of designer men’s suits in the store. They looked flattering on the slender mannequins, and Jigen studied them for a long minute before giving in and perusing the racks. He found a charcoal gray and a deep teal that looked good on him, along with button-down shirts and ties in complementing colors. Jigen could admit a weakness for a good-looking suit, especially when tailored to fit. Conveniently, the store had an in-house tailor. He was measured, paid for the suits in advance, and left them at the counter to pick them up in a few days.

The clothes cost more than he was expecting, but he’d brought plenty of money with him. Aside from the suits, he had everything folded and tucked into a single shopping bag. His old boots went straight into the trash outside the store so he could break in the new ones on the walk home. There was a grocery store near the apartment building where he picked up enough food for the next few days. Now juggling two bags, he made his way up the stairs of his—Lupin’s—building.

Jigen was attempting to fish the apartment key out of his pocket when he heard a loud crash from inside and a sound of breaking glass. Swearing under his breath, he dropped the shopping bags and pulled out his gun, then unlocked the door as quickly as he could and kicked it open. No shots were fired as he ducked back behind the frame. Jigen peered cautiously into the living room and scanned the apartment with his eyes. Nothing.

Making his way through the small flat, Jigen checked the kitchen and the bathroom next. Still nothing. When he reached the bedroom, he realized the source of the noise: Oscar had fallen out of bed, blankets twisted around him, shards of glass and china in the shag carpet where he’d knocked over the lunch Jigen had left for him. The sandwich had tumbled apart in the fall, and water darkened the carpeting beneath the rest of the mess. Oscar was staring, distantly fascinated, at his own bloody hands.

Jigen swore again, put his gun away, and knelt at Oscar’s side. “You alright? Oscar?”

Though Oscar looked at him, his eyes seemed blank and far away. Jigen took his unresisting hands and checked them for damage. Only a few superficial cuts. Oscar didn’t seem to notice the pain. Jigen stood and hauled Oscar to his feet, careful to steer him away from the sharp glass, and led him into the bathroom. He flipped the toilet lid down and made Oscar sit, then examined his hands more closely. No glass was stuck in the cuts, so that was lucky. Jigen cleaned his hands and wrapped them in gauze.

“Stay here,” he instructed, then went to fetch the shopping bags. Other than a couple of cracked eggs and a slightly squashed loaf of bread, the groceries were fine. He put them away in the kitchen. The department store bag was dropped onto the coffee table. Jigen grabbed a kitchen towel and the paper bag from the groceries. When he’d cleaned up the mess and picked all of the broken plate and glass from the carpet, Oscar was still sitting on the toilet, staring at his loosely curled, bandaged hands as they rested on his knobby knees.

Jigen pushed back Oscar’s tousled curls to feel his forehead: still warm and sweaty, but not as feverish as before. His blue eyes remained worryingly vacant. “Oscar, can you hear me?”

There was a moment when Jigen thought the answer might be ‘no,’ but then Oscar nodded slowly. “I’m having trouble,” he said, tongue sluggish and uncertain, “remembering which _me_ is real.”

Jigen’s French wasn’t always the best, so it took him a second to parse that sentence. “Oscar,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly, “have you taken any drugs?”

Oscar shivered. “The owls… they put something— _someone_ —inside me. I keep seeing memories on loop, like a film playing out over and over again. They’re not… they’re not all mine. The owl men… they _did_ things to me. To… her? They were trying to make me just like her. I thought I wanted that, too. No… I just wanted…”

Jigen felt sick. The owls. Had Oscar been involved in whatever all that nonsense was with Fujiko? It might explain how he knew Lupin and Inspector Zenigata. Whoever this kid was, he was tied up in the same story they were. There was no such thing as a neat and tidy ending.

Not for the first time, Jigen wondered if he shouldn’t simply drop Oscar off at a hospital. Hospitals asked questions, and often involved the police, though. Given Oscar’s reaction to the last time Jigen mentioned the police, maybe that was a bad idea. Oscar didn’t seem to be in any life-threatening danger; the dishes had been an accident. Even his fever had broken. Well, it wasn’t as though Jigen had anything else to do. He could keep an eye on Oscar for a little while, see if he pulled out of this on his own. Maybe Lupin would be interested in what Oscar had to say about the owls.

 _No,_ Jigen decided. _Lupin doesn’t need to know about Oscar. Not yet._

Lupin had ditched him to run around with Fujiko at the end of that whole debacle. Jigen had spent the rest of that night fighting against the owl-headed guy in the red jacket with the bullet-cutting sword, until morning broke along with the drug-induced haze they’d both been in. The sword-wielder had vanished, perhaps an illusion as well. Jigen found an abandoned truck that still had the keys in the ignition and gas in the tank, somehow. When Jigen had found Lupin wandering alongside a highway, away from a trail of strewn car parts, he’d picked him up. Even when pressed Lupin hadn’t explained much, except to say that it was over. Over for Fujiko, maybe, but obviously not for everyone, otherwise Oscar wouldn’t be like this. Lupin had said, “It’s not my story to tell,” with a Cheshire cat smile. Smug son of a bitch.

It still stung, that Lupin wouldn’t tell him more. Not that he owed Jigen an explanation. He didn’t owe Jigen anything—he was all paid up and then some, what with the apartment and the cash advance. But he also wasn’t entitled to Jigen’s secrets, either. He knew too many of them already for Jigen’s liking.

“Hey, Oscar,” Jigen said, “I brought you some clothes. Let’s get you into something a little warmer, and then I’ll make us some dinner, all right?”

As though it were a monumental effort to focus on him, Oscar blinked and squinted at Jigen. Some of the light returned to his eyes, and he nodded, more surely this time.

Jigen felt some of the tension leave his body. He could do this. He could take care of Oscar for a little while, at least until he decided on what to do with him for the long term. It was better than spending all day watching sports matches on television and drinking himself stupid on the couch while he waited for Lupin to come back—whenever _that_ was.

“Come on, kiddo,” Jigen said, slipping too easily into the nickname he’d called his younger siblings, helping Oscar up with an arm around his waist. “I’ve got you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware that in this chapter there is brief fantasizing about using a sleeping person as a masturbation aid. Please feel free to contact me via the comments or pipwinkle@Gmail.com if you want to ask for additional tags, as needed. Thank you!

Two weeks passed. While Oscar’s physical wounds healed to almost nothing in that time, his mental health was not so linear a recovery. Oscar went through phases. Sometimes he was perfectly lucid, and could carry on a conversation with Jigen, or sit with him on the couch and watch a game or a western movie. Other times he babbled and cried and clawed at his own skin, and all Jigen could do was sit and hold him until he calmed down or fell asleep. Then there were the times where Oscar seemed to be moving around inside a waking dream, barely interacting with the world around him, but relatively docile. Jigen wasn’t sure which version of Oscar was hardest to deal with. When he was lucid, sometimes he was a little  _ too _ sharp with his observations, verging on downright rude. 

“You don’t like women,” Oscar said over breakfast one morning. They switched between French, Japanese, and English, depending on the mood. Oscar’s English was weakest, and Jigen’s French wasn’t quite fluent, but they were both more or less comfortable with Japanese. Oscar defaulted to French when he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, or when he wanted to feel superior to Jigen, or when he was just being a little shit. He was speaking French now.

Jigen felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. It was going to be one of  _ those _ kinds of conversations, was it? “I like women just fine.” 

“But you don’t want to sleep with them. You don’t bring women around here.”

“I can’t exactly bring dates back here with you around.”

“You pay attention to the men on television more.” Oscar propped his chin on his hands, elbows on the dining table. He wore the clothes Jigen had bought him: a navy blue shirt and light gray trousers. “I watch you, sometimes. Your pupils dilate and your nostrils flare when you see a man with his shirt off, or bending over, or wearing tight—”

“Is there a point to this?” Jigen cut him off. He stabbed at his eggs a little more aggressively than strictly necessary.

“Were you thinking about the man on the phone, the first night I was here?”

Jigen’s face bloomed red. “Oscar,” he warned, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I was listening at the door for a while before I came in. I could see you through the keyhole. This is his apartment, isn’t it? His bed?”

“Goddamnit, Oscar—”

“Why didn’t you want to sleep with me?” 

The quiet vulnerability and honest confusion in Oscar’s voice wasn’t at all what Jigen was expecting. He leaned back in his chair. “What?”

Oscar bit his lower lip, studying his glass of orange juice rather than look at Jigen. “Is it because I’m too much like a woman?”

Now Jigen was even more confused.  _ “What?” _

“You’re clearly attracted to men, but not women. You were… jerking off, yet when I offered myself to you, you refused me. Violently.”

Jigen rubbed his hand over his face. He hadn’t even finished his coffee yet and Oscar was going to throw all this at him  _ now? _

“I don’t even know where to start.” A dry bark of laughter escaped him. “Have you even  _ had _ sex before?”

Oscar’s gaze skittered sideways. “Not exactly.”

“Uh huh. So, you saw me, got me all figured out, but still can’t understand why I’d turn you down? Oscar, I had  _ just met you. _ You hadn’t even been conscious around me for very long. Of course I was going to turn down  _ any  _ man or woman who showed up in my bed and kissed me without warning, especially while I was...busy. A man likes his privacy for certain things.”

“You put a gun to my head.”

“Yeah, well. When all you’ve got is a gun, every problem looks like a… a problem you solve with guns.” Jigen pinched the bridge of his nose. “I apologized for that already. Anyway, I wasn’t going to sleep with you then, and I won’t do it now.”

“Why not?” With his tone bordering on a whine, Oscar seemed even younger than ever. 

“Why do you want me to so badly?” Jigen challenged. “I told you, I don’t need your gratitude, or whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

Oscar slunk down in his chair, cheeks puffing out in a pout. Jigen scoffed at his theatrics, but as he tried to finish eating his eggs, he saw the glitter of actual tears in the boy’s eyes. Jigen tilted his head at Oscar and his shoulders drooped. “Hey…”

Bare feet on shag rug didn’t make for much of a stomp, but Oscar gave his best effort as he stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door shut loudly enough to make Jigen wince. Jigen put his head down on his arms for a moment and just breathed.  _ This could be over, _ he reminded himself.  _ You could drop him off at the nearest church or hospital or police station—knock him out and tie him up if you don’t want to deal with the hysterics—and he’d be someone else’s problem.  _

But he didn’t  _ want _ Oscar to be someone else’s problem, did he?

The phone rang. Jigen groaned. He picked up on the third ring. “Yeah.”

“Jigen! Love to hear those dulcet tones.”

“Apartment is fine. I’m still alive. Whaddya want?”

“Jeez, so cold! I’m wrapping up here soon. You got enough money to get by for now?”

Jigen wondered if he was serious. Even with the increased grocery bill and the new clothes, he’d barely made a dent in the cash Lupin had left him. “Uh, yeah. Should be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good. I need you to be ready if I call on you, right? Can’t have you picking up odd jobs while I’m away. Timing could be important.”

“You already rely on me that much, huh?” Jigen popped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, itching to do something with his hands and mouth but not wanting to eat while on the phone. “I could’ve trashed the place and run off with all that money, you know.”

“Except you wouldn’t have,” Lupin said with the confidence only geniuses and madmen possessed. Jigen was starting to think he was both at once. “How’s your cat?”

Right on cue, there was a thud from the bedroom. “Oscar!” Jigen snapped, slapping a hand over the receiver. “Knock it off!”

“Oscar, huh? Weird. That was the name of that young cop hanging around Zenigata. Kind of a pretty-boy type? Vicious little bastard.”

_ Shit.  _ Jigen had forgotten that Oscar had encountered Lupin before. And now that Lupin mentioned it…  _ so had he. _ The cop in charge of arresting him at the storage unit, where that ‘death day’ psychic had set him up. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at Oscar’s face back then. Besides, that whole situation had gone tits-up real quick. 

He chose his next words as though he were diffusing a bomb. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Funny name for a cat.”

“I’m a funny guy.” 

Lupin laughed, the sound crackling over the land line. “I like you, Jigen! You keep things interesting. Maybe one of these days I’ll even see you without your hat on.”

There was a weight to his words that the playfulness of his tone couldn’t disguise. Lupin was intrigued, but it was more than that. Unless Jigen was reading something into this conversation that wasn’t there. He tested it, playing right back. “Hmm. Maybe, if you’re lucky.”

“Ah, careful! You know I like it when they play hard to get.” His words trailed off in a husky growl, and then Jigen was listening to the dial tone. 

Jigen hung up the phone, hand shaking, stiff and aching beneath his nightshirt over a few teasing words from that asshole. Damn, he needed to get laid. He was going stir-crazy, hanging out here with a homeless  _ former cop, _ who had God only knew  _ what _ wrong with his head, and now Jigen was getting thoughts in his head about  _ Lupin _ , of all the fucking terrible ideas. He stabbed his cigarette out viciously in the ashtray, not even half-smoked.

He needed to change out of his pajamas, though. Taking a moment to clear the breakfast dishes, Jigen braced himself and knocked on the bedroom door. “Oscar, I’m coming in.”

The door wouldn’t open. It was unlocked, but there was something in the way. Jigen shoved the door with his shoulder. “Oscar? Open up!”

There was a low groan on the other side of the door. It sounded like it was coming from the floor. Jigen swore. “Oscar! Can you roll over?”

There was a scrape and a rustle of fabric against the wooden door, and it swung open a few inches without anything to hold it shut. Jigen carefully pushed it open enough to squeeze inside, and sure enough, Oscar was curled up on the carpet. “Hey, Oscar. You okay?”

“How does she do it?” Oscar mumbled. “That pig. She can just traipse around doing anything she wants, lets herself get used like a whore, and she keeps getting away with it. She keeps winning. Bad girl… Bad girls get punished.”

Ah. This was either ‘half-dreaming’ Oscar or ‘on the verge of a fit’ Oscar. There was no heat to his words. It was as though he were simply replaying them, speaking them out loud to hear them, trying to understand. Jigen sighed and sat down on the floor next to him, resting his arms on his sharp knees. “Going on about that woman, huh?”

“Fujiko Mine,” Oscar spat, curling tighter around himself. “I can’t get rid of her! So why, why, why…”

Here came the crying. Jigen dropped a hand into Oscar’s hair, petting through the tangled curls. “Shh. Oscar. She’s not worth getting worked up over, believe me.”

_ “Why couldn’t I  _ **_be_ ** _ her?” _ Each word was wrung from Oscar like he was being tortured. “My black gem, beautiful, tarnished by her,  _ stolen _ by her! Why should  _ she _ get to have him when I—”

His sobs rose like the cries of a wounded animal. Jigen sighed and scooped Oscar into his arms, gathering him close. This, too, was nothing new. It played out with similar lines every time. Oscar’s hatred for Fujiko, his unrequited love for his ‘black gem’—who, as it turned out, was Inspector Zenigata himself. Carefully, Jigen lay down in the bed with him. Oscar tucked his head beneath Jigen’s bearded chin and wept, open and ugly, getting snot and tears all over his nightshirt. 

The more Jigen picked up from Oscar’s half-coherent rambling, the more he was convinced that Oscar had been a victim of the weird owl-headed men, maybe for a lot longer than anyone realized. The strange tattoo on his torso had slightly raised lines, as though the ink had been laid down over old scar tissue. It looked like someone had branded Oscar—maybe even as a child. Jigen would have asked Lupin more about it, but something still made him hesitate. Something that made him want to crouch over his few remaining secrets and growl protectively over them (over Oscar.) Warning Lupin,  _ anyone _ who would try to take them (him):  _ this is mine.  _ Maybe it was due to having so little of his own for so long that made him want to guard what he had so jealously. It was stupid; Oscar wasn’t even his to claim. 

_ He could be, though. _ Jigen swallowed. Oscar had fallen asleep on him again, lanky limbs tangled with Jigen’s. One pale, lean thigh draped across Jigen’s hips, pinning Jigen’s almost-forgotten erection beneath it. Jigen wasn’t wearing anything beneath the nightshirt. It would be easy enough to hike up the fabric, rock his hips gently against the warm body wrapped around his own. Oscar probably wouldn’t even wake up. He’d never notice if Jigen borrowed a little heat, a little friction from his sleeping form. And if he did wake up? He’d probably offer to help a little more actively. Wrap his dainty, long fingers around Jigen’s cock, faltering but eager. Wrap his pretty lips…

Oscar moaned softly in his sleep and Jigen nearly echoed him. He realized the hem of his nightshirt was clutched in his fist, halfway pulled up his thigh, and he shoved it down again with a grunt of disgust.  _ What the actual fuck is wrong with me? _

Carefully, even though all he wanted to do was shove Oscar away and scramble out of the bed as quickly as possible, Jigen extracted himself from Oscar’s embrace and slipped away. He was shaking all over. He grabbed some clothes without looking at them, and left to take a very cold shower.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's explicit sex in this chapter, including the aforementioned ill-advised sex between Jigen and Oscar when neither of them are in a state of mind that lends well to good consent.

Jigen went out that night. Oscar had slipped into his dreamy state, which meant he ate what was put in front of him and didn’t argue when Jigen put him to bed. He probably wouldn’t move all night. Jigen wrote him a note anyway and made sure all the windows and the door were locked before he left.

The teal suit looked especially good on him, Jigen thought, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and the tight curve of his ass. He kept his Magnum tucked in a proper holster for once, a shoulder harness he found in one of the dresser drawers. Lupin wouldn’t care if he borrowed it. It felt strange, keeping the weight of his gun under his left arm instead of against the small of his back, but he knew he’d be able to draw it quickly enough if the need arose. Tonight, he wasn’t looking for the kind of problem that should need a gun to solve it. Not  _ that _ type of gun, anyway.

Jigen didn’t need to go far to find the sort of bar he wanted. That was one of the nice things about France. He ordered a glass of whiskey and scanned the room beneath the brim of his hat. It was a relaxed yet lively atmosphere, hazy with cigarette smoke, and though there were a few women present it was mostly a bar full of men like himself. Not like he was obvious about it, but anyone who knew what to look for would recognize him. Since he was here looking for something specific, he laid it on a little thicker: jutted a hip out at a sharper angle than usual, tipped his hat back until his eyes were actually visible. He even smiled and lifted his chin in acknowledgment when he made eye contact with someone, raised his glass. Eventually, he got a nibble on the line. 

“American?” asked a man with a thick mustache and glittering dark eyes. He was wearing tight slacks and an even tighter shirt, the V of his v-neck cut so deep the point dipped below his generously hairy pecs. 

“Here I thought I was being subtle,” Jigen joked, grinning, and the man laughed. 

“You have to try too hard. Definitely American.” He winked and held out a hand. “Jean-Pierre. And you?”

Jigen didn’t comment on how that was  _ the _ most French name he’d ever heard. He took Jean-Pierre’s hand and gave it a firm shake, lingering just a beat longer on the part where their fingers slid away from one another. “Jigen.”

The night moved in a blur of alcohol and smoke and too-loud music from the jukebox, too-loud voices chattering around them. When Jigen got up to take a leak, Jean-Pierre followed him. Jigen had hardly finished shaking off his dick when Jean-Pierre had him crowded into a toilet cubicle, lips crushed to his, groping his ass desperately. He tasted like those shitty French cigarettes Lupin smoked. Jigen shuddered against him, instantly hard for reasons he did not care to examine. He kissed back hungrily, scraping his teeth over Jean-Pierre’s plump lower lip. 

Things happened quickly after that. Belts were fumbled open, pants shoved down just far enough. Jigen wound up kneeling on the dirty restroom floor with Jean-Pierre’s cock down his throat, jerking himself frantically as he gagged. Jean-Pierre came in his mouth, then hastily tucked himself back into his pants with a mumbled, “Thanks. Sorry, but I have to go.”

Jean-Pierre was gone before Jigen could quite process what the fuck had just happened. He stood up awkwardly, staring out into the empty restroom with his pants still shoved around his thighs. Then he slammed the cubicle door shut and sat on the edge of the toilet seat, head in his hands, neglected erection throbbing angrily.  _ Fucking French men. _

Once Jigen had arranged his clothing into some semblance of decency, he staggered home, too pissed off and too piss drunk to try to find someone else. He’d just rub one out in the shower—a hot one, this time—and sleep it off. 

At least, that was his plan. 

Jigen went straight from the apartment door to the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes as he let the water run to heat up. He’d be mad at himself in the morning for leaving his suit on the floor to get wrinkled, but at that moment he just didn’t care. The hot spray felt heavenly against his skin. The stink of the bar faded away as steam filled the bathroom. It was a luxury, having this whenever he wanted it, and one he indulged in every chance he had. 

Jigen lathered up a washcloth and ran it over his neck, shoulders, down his chest. When it passed over one of his nipples he gasped at the sensation, his arousal surging right back through him as though it had never left. Too many times getting blue-balled for one reason or another. Now he was on a hair trigger. He took his time soaping up his chest, teasing at his sensitive nipples until his cock was leaking and so hard it hurt. Only then did he allow his soap-slick hands to wander further down, one curling loosely around his shaft, the other cupping and tugging gently on his balls as he began to stroke. It felt so good that he moaned, a little louder than he meant to do. Touching his dick felt like blessed relief, but he still felt the experience was incomplete. Empty. Another man’s touch would have been ideal, but for now he released his balls and moved his hand behind himself to rub over his tight hole.  _ Ah, there. _ That was better. 

Without lube, he couldn’t do much, but he managed to wriggle two fingers inside with the aid of soapy water and a lot of patience. It helped. His stroking resumed, unhurried; while he’d been desperate to get off before, now that he was here, he wanted to enjoy it for a little while longer. Sometimes it was as much about the journey as it was the destination. 

The bathroom door opened, and Jigen’s hands stilled on and inside himself. Maybe Oscar just needed to take a leak and would leave in a minute. He nearly held his breath, almost dropped to a crouch to hide in the deep claw-foot tub, but realized that was ridiculous. Obviously he was in the shower, even if the opaque curtain hid him from view. It wasn’t like it was a secret.

There was no sound of the toilet being used. Instead, a pale hand curled around the edge of the curtain. Jigen’s heart nearly stopped. If Oscar saw him like this, there’d be no denying what he was doing. Oscar hesitated. 

“Jigen,” he said, voice clear and unwavering, “I’m coming in.”

Jigen could have stopped him. Could have grabbed the curtain and held it around himself like a shield, could have told Oscar to leave him alone. Could have  _ at least  _ taken his fingers out of his ass and off his cock. He could have done a lot of things he didn’t do. 

Oscar, already naked, stepped into the shower with him. He looked Jigen over, at the way the water flattened his body hair against his skin in dark, wet curls; at his flushed and pointed nipples; at the way Jigen still had one hand behind himself with his middle and ring finger buried inside; and finally at the hard, wet, purple-red cock held in the circle of his other hand. Oscar placed one hand on Jigen’s chest, looking up to meet his gaze. As if that were the signal, Jigen released the shaking breath he’d been holding after all. He closed his eyes and nodded.

The kiss started out soft, so soft, but Jigen had been aching for  _ days _ and he was so close that he couldn’t hold back for long. Jigen nipped at those cherubic pink lips, licked his way in to taste the sleep-sour inside of his mouth. Oscar gasped against his lips as Jigen’s hands abandoned his own pleasure in order to touch Oscar, tracing whipcord muscles beneath baby-soft skin, taking hold of his slender cock and pumping it until it was as hard as Jigen’s. Oscar’s fingers twitched and curled against Jigen’s chest, drawing faint lines of red. Catching one of his thin wrists, Jigen guided Oscar’s hand down to his cock, silently urging him to follow Jigen’s example. Though Oscar was far from experienced, he caught on quickly, and soon Jigen was moaning and bucking into the tight grip, cupping his own hand over the head to catch the hot spurts of white. Jigen didn’t waste any time. Grinning at Oscar, he used his own slippery release to slick Oscar’s cock and jerk him faster, harder. Oscar’s mouth fell open into a perfect, pink ‘O’ of overwhelming pleasure, eyes squeezing shut and brows furrowing as his orgasm took him in a shuddering, choked wail. He leaned heavily against Jigen, who lowered them somewhat clumsily to the bottom of the tub. The warm water ran over their spent bodies and washed away their combined ejaculate as they panted in each other’s arms. 

The water turned cold before long. Jigen turned off the taps and bundled them both in clean towels, half-carrying Oscar back to the bedroom with him. They fell into the bed, now with clean sheets that only smelled of Jigen and Oscar, because Jigen had laundered them until Lupin’s scent was banished. They slept as they were, tangled and naked and still a little damp, wet towels kicked to the end of the bed and the covers drawn over them both. 

Jigen was aware of Oscar stirring against him at some point in the night. He still felt a little drunk and hazy, so it couldn’t have been very long. Oscar was petting over Jigen’s chest and belly, creeping down to hold his flaccid dick, his hands more curious than amorous. Jigen allowed it. Despite having come once already, the sensation of someone else’s hands on him was coaxing the blood to fill his cock again, swelling in Oscar’s exploratory grasp. The full span of both of Oscar’s hands was not enough to contain his length. It curved up toward his belly, thick and proud. Oscar kept stroking him, then shuffled around under the covers until Jigen could feel hot breath against his sensitive skin. Wet heat blossomed across the head as Oscar licked across it with the flat of his tongue. Jigen groaned and squirmed beneath Oscar as he let the younger man taste and tease him without any guidance. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he twisted away and grabbed the lube from the bedside table. 

“Do you know what to do with this?” Jigen asked, his voice a hoarse rasp in the dark. Oscar nodded, but uncertainly, so Jigen squeezed some into Oscar’s hand and made sure his fingers were slick before guiding them down to his hole. “One at a time. You gotta stretch me open a little first. Then get yourself nice and wet and fuck me.”

Oscar nodded again, doing as Jigen instructed. He rushed a little, clearly excited, but he took direction well and soon Jigen was gasping as Oscar slid the blunt head of his cock past his stretched rim. It helped that Oscar was a little on the small side, not that Jigen minded that sort of thing. It felt good in a different way than a bigger dick did, just the right length for the head to rub up against Jigen’s prostate with every thrust as he lay on his back with his knees drawn up to his chest. Oscar panted above him, hands flexing on Jigen’s thighs as he helped hold him open. When he began to move, Jigen let go of his usual reticence to make noise, encouraging Oscar with breathy moans and grunts. 

“There you go,” Jigen groaned as Oscar finally found his rhythm, hips slapping wetly against Jigen’s ass. “That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back. I can take everything you’ve got.”

It was obviously too much for Oscar’s first time doing this. He faltered and his thrusts became erratic, whimpering as liquid heat coated Jigen’s insides. Jigen purred at the welcome sensation, reaching down to stroke himself to completion for a second time while Oscar was still pulsing inside him. His own release dribbled onto his belly, not as productive as his first round, but somehow even more satisfying. 

Oscar had the presence of mind to grab one of their discarded towels and use it to wipe them both off so they wouldn’t be sticky or crusty in the morning. Jigen hummed his approval. Once they were both as clean as they were going to get, Jigen pulled Oscar into his arms for a loose, lazy kiss. Oscar tucked his head under Jigen’s chin and left a hand on his chest as he settled in to sleep again. Jigen covered Oscar’s hand with his own and nuzzled into the damp, sweet-smelling curls on the top of his head, letting sleep drag him back down as well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art is also by me.

The first thing Jigen was aware of the next morning was the sensation of feathers tickling his face. 

“Fuck off, Lupin,” he muttered, still mostly asleep.

“Lupin?” Oscar asked sharply, and Jigen’s brain snapped the rest of the way to wakefulness.

Waking up made Jigen aware of several more things in rapid succession. First, his mouth was full of dryer lint. Second, he had to piss, which was going to be really difficult with the morning wood he was sporting. Third, somebody had run his head over with a tank. Fourth, his ass was pleasantly sore. And fifth, but not least important, was that Oscar was lying beside him (the ‘feathers’ were, in reality, Oscar’s curls), and they were both naked. 

Jigen groaned. He also realized that he’d said a name that Oscar would definitely recognize. 

“Just a bad dream.” Limbs too heavy, Jigen heaved himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He wasn’t sure how much of a problem it would be to have Oscar know about his connection to Lupin, or if it would be worse than Lupin knowing Oscar was staying with him, but for now he had to take care of more immediate physical needs. After draining his bladder, Jigen washed up and splashed some cold water on his face. He swished a mouthful of water and spat it in the sink. Then, with great trepidation, Jigen dared a look in the mirror: bloodshot eyes, hair a tangled mop, and dried come crusted in his chest hair from where Oscar had apparently missed with the towel last night. Jigen grimaced, scrubbing that out as best he could with cold tap water and his fingers. He picked up his rumpled suit and dug his cigarettes out of the jacket pocket. The gun harness and his Magnum were still on the floor. He must have been _very_ drunk last night. Lighting a cigarette, he gathered his things.

Upon returning to the bedroom, Oscar was still glowering up at him expectantly from the bed. Jigen ignored him and dumped his dirty clothes in the basket. His precious Magnum was laid on the dresser as he pulled out some clothes and dragged them on without really looking at them. Underwear, casual slacks, polo shirt. They weren’t his and they didn’t look like something Lupin would wear normally, so probably a disguise. As he was hunting for clean socks, he felt a pair of surprisingly strong, slim arms wind around his waist. Oscar’s sharp chin dug into a spot behind his left shoulder blade. Jigen stilled.

“Jigen,” Oscar said. When Jigen didn’t answer, he tried a different approach, letting his voice drop into a breathy growl: “Daisuke.”

An involuntary shudder ran the length of Jigen’s spine. “Oscar.”

“What’s your relationship with Lupin the Third?”

Jigen’s gaze slid to his Magnum. Oscar’s arms tightened around his waist, just a little, and Jigen exhaled slowly. “We work together. He’s got me cooling my heels here for now, but this is his apartment.”

“Is he your lover?”

The question dragged a laugh out of Jigen, which turned into a cackle, which turned into a hacking cough. Jigen stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray atop the dresser. There was way too much to unpack there, so all Jigen could say was: “No. Not even close.”

Jigen turned around in the circle of Oscar’s arms and put his hands on Oscar’s shoulders. Sober, by daylight, he was painfully aware that last night had not been his best series of decisions. Yet, he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret everything. Oscar’s eyes fixed on his own, such a stunning shade of deep blue, so full of uncertainty and insecurity. As much as Oscar had taken advantage of his drunken state, Jigen had taken advantage of Oscar’s instability.

 _Maybe we deserve one another_ , Jigen thought wryly. He brought his hands up to cup Oscar’s face, then leaned down to give him a chaste kiss. Oscar whimpered softly against his lips and tried to deepen the kiss, but Jigen pulled back, and Oscar made a disappointed sound. “Put some clothes on. We’re going out for breakfast.”

…

Oscar walked two steps behind Jigen and slightly to his right. Jigen was aware of his location at all times; he couldn’t help but notice, his senses attuned to the young man shadowing him down the Parisian streets. As they walked, Jigen was also on the lookout for police. It was dangerous to take Oscar outside like this, he knew, but if he had to stay cooped up inside that apartment any longer he was going to shoot something. 

They didn’t have to go far to find a cafe that Jigen favored. He ordered them coffee (black for Jigen, _au lait_ for Oscar) and croissants, and they sat at one of the outdoor tables under an umbrella, enjoying the morning. 

The fresh air and coffee helped lift Jigen’s hangover. Jigen relaxed and stretched his legs out under the table, bumping against Oscar’s ankles. Oscar flinched and rearranged himself so they weren’t touching. Jigen frowned. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Oscar said quickly. He’d drunk his coffee, but had only picked at his croissant. “It’s strange, being out in public like this.”

“In general, or with me?”

“Both, I suppose.”

Jigen studied him from under the brim of his hat. He’d left the casual clothing on, but he would have felt naked without his fedora. Oscar looked different outside of the apartment. More real, somehow, like sitting at a cafe table meant he wasn’t just some figment of Jigen’s lonely imagination. A couple of weeks of getting plenty of sleep and three meals a day had agreed with him, so at least he looked healthier than when Jigen had first found him sleeping under a box. “We haven’t really talked about where you’ll go from here.”

Oscar looked at him, alarmed. “I… don’t really have anywhere else _to_ go.”

“I won’t be able to keep you forever, you know.” Jigen softened the words with a half-smile. “Lupin’s gonna call for me eventually, or come back.”

“He can’t find me with you,” Oscar said, expression grim. “I understand.”

“I can give you some money. You could go anywhere you wanted. Start a new life. I’ll do what I can to make sure you have the help you need. Oscar… I can’t fix whatever’s broken in you. I think you can, though. With time.”

Oscar shook his head slowly, mouth twisting, eyes filling with tears. Jigen leaned closer, reaching beneath the table and taking his hand. He tried to cover for his own heartache by teasing gently: “Hey. I know we did everything backwards, but is it really so bad that you have to cry on our first date?”

That, at least, startled a laugh from Oscar. He scrubbed at the tears spilling over his cheeks with his sleeve. “Is that what that is? A date?”

“Well, sure. First you moved in, then we slept together, now we’re having a date.” Jigen grinned. “See? All backwards.”

Oscar nodded, chuckling. Even with the tears in his eyes, cheeks stained red, the smile looked good on him. Jigen realized he hadn’t really seen Oscar smile in the week or so they’d spent together. “So, when we part, it won’t really be like… like breaking up. It’ll just be like we haven’t met yet.”

“Now you’re getting the idea.” Jigen tilted his hat back down to hide his eyes, but he couldn’t quite keep the rough edge from his voice as he spoke around the lump forming there. Jigen didn’t cry. It was just a sympathetic reaction to seeing Oscar like this. That was all. 

“Then,” Oscar took a shaky breath, tried to smile a little more, and it was killing Jigen to look at him like this, “we’ll have to meet again someday, and do things properly. In the right order.”

Jigen squeezed Oscar’s hand because he couldn’t pull him into a hug here, couldn’t kiss the tears from his face, and absolutely _could not_ promise any such thing. Of all the regrets Jigen had this morning, now his biggest one was starting this conversation while they were still out in public. He should have just let it be a nice date. _Emotional attachments will only fuck you up,_ he reminded himself bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me a sympathetic reaction as I was writing it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad breakup sex ahoy. Art is by me.

  
Jigen didn’t let go of Oscar’s hand on the way back to the apartment. He didn’t care if anyone saw. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Oscar was on him, kissing him hard. 

This was the last time they could do this. It had to be. After this, Jigen would find somewhere for Oscar to go, and would leave him there with whatever he could spare. The next time Jigen left this apartment, he’d have to come back alone. All of these things were true, and yet in that moment, they didn’t matter. The weight of the past was only a dream, and the future wasn’t written yet. All that mattered was that perfect, crystalline moment in time, when they could be together. They stepped out of the sins of their respective pasts the same way they shed their clothing, piece by piece, on the way to the bedroom, until their souls were as naked as their bodies and they looked at each other, saw each other, as they truly were.

“I want you to make love to me the way I did to you,” Oscar said. 

Jigen gathered Oscar up in his arms and carried him across the threshold to the bedroom like a new bride. He lay Oscar down on the bed, set his Magnum on the bedside table, and picked up the lubricant bottle. As he devoured Oscar with kisses, his slick fingers teased him open slowly, carefully. Oscar’s bent legs spread wide, then came together again, knees touching, squirming at the intrusion. His toes curled. Soft little grunts and sighs spilled from his lips, dark lashes fanning across pale cheeks as his head tipped back on the pillow. 

“Relax,” Jigen murmured. He couldn’t resist the pale stretch of Oscar’s throat and worried a bruise into his skin with teeth and suction. A memento, if only a temporary one. “Just relax and let me in.”

Oscar’s hands followed Jigen, tangling fingers in his hair as Jigen kissed his way down Oscar’s chest and lapped at his nipples. He gasped, ticklish, as Jigen’s beard brushed down his smooth belly, then again, louder, as Jigen took his cock in his mouth. Conveniently, he was just the right size for Jigen to completely engulf him without triggering his gag reflex. Oscar moaned and panted like he’d never been touched before, which Jigen supposed was more or less true until very recently. As he worked Oscar’s cock with his mouth, he stretched the tight rim that clenched around his fingers and pressed deeper inward. 

“Daisuke,” Oscar whined, tugging on Jigen’s hair and trying to guide his head where he wanted it. Jigen pulled back until he stopped. “Please, Daisuke!”

“It’ll hurt if I don’t get you ready first,” Jigen warned him. 

“I _want_ it to hurt. I want to feel it every time I move.” Oscar was weeping again. “I want to know that this was _real_ , when I can’t see you anymore. I want these memories to be _mine.”_

“Oscar…”

_“Please!”_ The way his voice broke made something inside Jigen break, too, and he couldn’t refuse Oscar anything when he begged like that. Jigen coated his own cock with a generous amount of lube and hoped Oscar was ready enough. Slowly, so slowly, he pressed into Oscar. The heat and pulse of his body surrounded Jigen and drew him in further, greedily, hungrily. He had to stop every so often, then pull back a little bit before pushing in a fraction more. By the time he was fully inside, Oscar was outright sobbing. Jigen was afraid to move, afraid to pull back out, until he was calmer.

“Deep breaths. I’ve got you.” Jigen leaned down gingerly so that he could deliver a glancing kiss to Oscar’s lower lip. “You’re doing great.”

“Liar,” Oscar said, but he was smiling through the tears, even as his breath hitched and shuddered. 

“Sometimes,” Jigen admitted. “Not about this, though.”

Jigen took it slowly, hips flexing back and curling forward as he remained where he was, nearly chest-to-chest with Oscar. Oscar’s slim yet strong legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking against the small of his back. The salt-sweet taste of Oscar’s tears lingered on Jigen’s tongue when he kissed every part of Oscar’s face he could reach. Oscar’s erection had softened with the discomfort of being penetrated for the first time, but bloomed to life again when Jigen shifted his weight onto one elbow so he could reach between them and wrap it in his long, callused fingers, thumbing the frenulum and the leaking slit on the upstroke. 

“Feels… so full,” Oscar gasped. His hips wriggled withut rhythm at first, just trying to get comfortable, but eventually he began to push back against Jigen’s thrusts until he jolted with pleasure. “Oh! Ohhhh, Daisuke, _that_ —do that again!”

Grinning, Jigen angled his hips until he was pressing up inside Oscar, glancing across his prostate. Oscar’s back arched, then bowed, then arched again as he tried to find the spot on his own. Jigen kissed his neck, then leaned back until he was kneeling upright, Oscar still prone on the bed. The new position gave Oscar exactly what he wanted. It gave Jigen better leverage, too. Oscar’s voice broke over raw, hoarse yelps and wails as Jigen thrust into him, tempo accelerating. 

As the precipice rushed toward him, Jigen thought stubbornly that he didn’t want it to be over so soon. He wanted to remain here, inside Oscar, wrapped around Oscar, and freeze time so that they’d never have to leave. They’d never have to return to a time when they weren’t together. They would never have to think about their pasts or their futures. Jigen held on to that shining, perfect instant for as long as he could, but like falling off a cliff, he couldn’t stay suspended in midair for long. He pulsed hotly into Oscar, filling him, claiming him. “Mine,” Jigen growled out, unthinking, vision sparking white. “Yours. My beautiful… Oscar…”

“Daisuke,” Oscar sobbed, his own release streaking across his pale belly, just a translucent wet shine on his skin. 

Jigen wrapped Oscar up in his arms and kissed him fiercely through the fading echoes of their climax. It wasn’t until Oscar’s thumbs brushed over his cheeks that he realized the dampness there was from tears, not sweat. Jigen turned his face away, eyes shut tight, pressing a tender kiss to Oscar’s palm. A sympathetic response. That was all.

They lingered in each other’s arms as long as they could, foreheads pressed together, touching and nuzzling as if trying to fill up on a lifetime’s worth. Eventually, they parted, dealing with the sticky and uncomfortable bits as efficiently as possible. Oscar dozed off as Jigen finished wiping him down with a damp washcloth. As much as Jigen wished he could join him, keep that sleepy, soft warmth against his skin for a little while longer, he had work to do.


	9. Chapter 9

At the dining table, Jigen flipped through the phone book. He made some phone calls. He wrote down addresses, times and dates. He counted out the cash Lupin had left him and calculated how much he’d need for himself if he kept expenses to a minimum. 

When Oscar woke from his nap, Jigen was zipping shut a duffel bag with all of Oscar’s clothing and a small stash of emergency money. The clothes he’d been wearing that morning had been collected from their scattered locations along the path from the door to the bedroom and laid out neatly on a chair beside the bed. Jigen was dressed in his new charcoal gray suit. 

“Are we going already?” Oscar asked. He sounded resigned.

“I found a place,” Jigen said. “It’s a long drive, but you’ll be safe there. You’ll have people who can look out for you.”

“An institution?”

“More like a halfway house.” Jigen gave him a thin, worn smile. “They have a doctor there who specializes in psychological trauma. When you’re ready to move out on your own, they help find housing and work. They didn’t require any identification papers.”

“A fresh start,” Oscar mused, slowly pulling his clothes on. “I could be anyone I wanted.”

“I looked up the village, too. It seems like the kind of place a person could be happy.”

“But you can’t stay with me.” It wasn’t a question. 

Jigen shook his head. “My past is too hot on my heels. Maybe I’ll outrun it someday, or it’ll catch up with me and that’ll be the end of it. Anyway, I’m not ready to retire just yet. Feels like I’m just now getting my fresh start.”

“With Lupin?”

“With Lupin. For now.”

Now dressed, Oscar stepped up behind Jigen and wrapped his arms around his waist. His chin pressed into the hollow between Jigen’s shoulder blades. Jigen rested one hand on top of Oscar’s, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles. Oscar’s words were muffled into his jacket but Jigen felt them resonate through his chest anyway: “I’ll miss you.”

If Jigen admitted the same, he’d never be able to go through with this. He swallowed thickly. “It’s time to go.”

…

The drive from Paris to the little village outside Toulouse took seven hours, give or take. Lupin had left his re-assembled roadster behind, along with the keys, though this was the first time Jigen had felt any need to borrow it. They stopped for dinner just after crossing the Dordogne river in a pub that served rich onion soup with toasted bread and cheese on top. Whenever Jigen caught Oscar looking at him, Oscar blushed and stared intently at his bowl instead. Jigen tried not to smile too much. It hurt to smile.

When they arrived at the ‘halfway house,’ it was just past sunset. The building was bigger than Jigen had imagined, a beautiful brick structure in Southern French Gothic style, possibly a former church. Jigen pulled into the turnaround near the front doors and killed the engine. 

“I don’t want to go,” Oscar said, clutching the duffel bag to his chest. “I’m afraid that if I walk through those doors, I’ll look back, and that’ll be the last I ever see of you.”

“It might be.” Jigen caught the stricken look on Oscar’s face and amended: “I’ll try to visit, if I can. It’s safer for you if I don’t, though.”

“I don’t care. I…” Oscar’s lips trembled, parted around words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. He closed his mouth and swallowed, setting the bag aside so he could slide across the bench seat into Jigen’s arms. Jigen held him for a long time, memorizing the feel of his slim frame, the softness of his hair against his cheek, the clean windswept scent of him. “Thank you, Daisuke Jigen,” he whispered into Jigen’s collar. “I won’t forget you. Not if I live to be one hundred years old.”

“Good.” Jigen kissed him on the forehead, on the cheek. “I want you to have a long, happy life.”

Oscar was the one to bring their lips together one last time. It was over too soon, and he was out of the car and up the front steps before Jigen had fully opened his eyes. He did turn to look back when he reached the doors, and Jigen lifted his hand in a wave. Oscar returned the gesture. Before he turned away, he smiled. Jigen’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, rendered in the fading golden light of dusk. Then, he was gone.

Jigen took a deep, slow breath in and out. He started the car up again and drove away.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Jigen! I just got back! Mind picking me up from the airport?”

“I’m not your taxi driver.”

“Aww, come on! You have my car. The airport’s not that far of a drive.”

“So walk.”

“What do I even pay you for? Look, I’ll be in the parking garage, see you soon.”

Jigen sighed as he hung up the phone. He glanced at the kitchen clock: it was four in the morning. He’d arrived back in Paris the previous morning around this time after driving all night. Then, instead of sleeping, he’d washed all of the linens with baking soda to scrub every trace of Oscar’s scent from them. He couldn’t sleep in the bed otherwise. By then, it seemed wasteful to sleep when it was already daylight. So, he’d cleaned the rest of the apartment from top to bottom. There was something meditative about it, like when he cleaned his gun. He’d even scrubbed the stove top and the bathroom tile grout. By the time he’d finally collapsed into bed, it was nearly midnight.

Rubbing at his eyes, he shuffled back to the bedroom and considered flopping back into bed. He decided he didn’t actually want Lupin angry with him, after spending the last month living basically for free in his apartment and drinking all of his wine. He did say to be ready when he called. 

Twenty minutes later, he had an ‘entirely too chipper for barely sunrise’ Lupin chattering away in the passenger seat. Jigen was mostly tuning him out, grunting noncommittally from time to time. He had to keep his attention on the road. 

“So, where did _you_ go?” Lupin asked, forcing Jigen to actually process words again. He tapped the odometer. “Put a few miles on the old girl, huh?”

“Just got tired of the same four walls sometimes.” Jigen gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I made sure to fill the tank.”

“I’m not worried about it, only curious. You’re kind of a mystery, Daisuke Jigen.”

Jigen didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. 

“How’s Oscar?”

Jigen startled before he realized Lupin still thought Oscar was a cat. “Ah. I found him a new home. Dropped him off… day before yesterday.”

“Miss him yet?”

“He’ll be happier there.”

Lupin frowned, something soft and thoughtful in his eyes. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

“He was just a stray,” Jigen said, voice coming out too hard, overcompensating. Then, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Yeah. I do. _Did.”_

If Lupin noticed the slip, or thought anything of it, he didn’t say. 

They returned to the apartment, where Jigen suddenly felt a little self-conscious about the fact that he’d basically taken over Lupin’s bedroom. “Ah. I put some things in your closet. And I’ve been using the bed.”

“Would’ve been kind of strange if you didn’t. I should get another bed. Or just one bigger bed? Hmm, we’re gonna need a bigger flat.” Lupin grinned at him.

Jigen snorted. “Are you asking me to move in with you long-term?”

“Nothing’s long-term with me,” Lupin scoffed. “I was getting tired of this old place anyway. And if we’re going to work together, it makes sense to share a hideout, at least for now.”

“Makes sense,” Jigen agreed. “All right. I suppose your cooking isn’t terrible, even if your taste in women is.”

Lupin laughed, loud and bright, clapping him on the shoulder. “Great! I’ll cook, you clean. Looks spic and span in here! Oh, before I forget, I brought you a little something. A souvenir.”

With a flourish, he held out a small plush toy. It looked oddly familiar, and Jigen realized it was like the little elephant he’d won at the festival in Japan, the one he’d given to the painted girl. He’d mostly wanted it because it had a little hat just like his own. The toy Lupin held also wore a tiny fedora, but it was a cat instead of an elephant. Jigen took it in both hands, staring at it for a while. Then, realizing that Lupin was still waiting for some kind of response, he mumbled, “Thanks. It’s cute.”

For some reason, that made Lupin beam at him. Jigen felt like looking directly at that smile would be like looking into the sun. “I’m glad you like it! So, whaddya say, partner? I’ll cook us some breakfast, and then we can discuss our next job. I’ve got some fun leads.”

“Fun, eh?” Jigen couldn’t help but chuckle. Not in his entire life had he ever thought of working for the sake of ‘fun.’ “Yeah, all right. I’m in.”

…

Jigen didn’t visit Oscar before he left France. He didn’t visit Oscar when he returned, either, having been on another whirlwind life-or-death adventure with Lupin in the States. Three, five, ten, and twenty jobs later, Jigen still hadn’t visited Oscar. He had, however, picked up a postcard in every country they visited. Lupin asked who he was sending them to, once. 

“Just a friend,” Jigen said. 

On the back of each postcard, Jigen would write a short note. Nothing with identifying information, or details on their jobs, or anything like that. Just things like: _I saw a sunrise like this one at the same time I knew it was setting in France. Hope you’re well._ Or: _I know you can’t reply to these, sorry. Thought you might like this one with the birds._ And, once, after a job where Jigen was feeling especially lonely after Lupin had ‘sexiled’ him from their hideout with a tie on the doorknob: _I miss you. I’ll try to visit soon._


	11. Chapter 11

Before Jigen knew it, it had been two years since he’d watched Oscar return his good-bye wave. He’d known other lovers, made (and defeated) more enemies than he could count, and seen far more bizarre shit than he was prepared to talk about while sober. Working with Lupin was a lot of things, but it was certainly never boring. 

When Goemon joined their odd little team, making them a trio, Jigen thought it would be so easy and yet  _ such a terrible idea _ to fall in love with the samurai. But, then again, he’d thought that about Lupin, too. In the end, his heart did what it wanted. Jigen loved them both enough to kill for them, even when he wasn’t being paid for it. Over time, Jigen became certain that they loved him back, in their own unique ways. 

Fujiko came and went as she pleased, of course. Sometimes she worked jobs with them. Sometimes she was their competition. Jigen still couldn’t stand her. Lupin’s infatuation with her would get them all killed someday, he was sure of it. Even Goemon, who was perhaps just as easily swayed by women as Lupin, and had originally introduced her as his girlfriend, was wary of her. 

(Jigen would never admit he might have fallen in love with her, just a little bit, in spite of all that.)

…

At the end of one of his capers with Lupin and the others, which necessitated everyone going their own separate ways for a while, Jigen returned to that little village outside of Toulouse, France. He walked up a set of brick steps and entered the large double doors that led inside a Southern French Gothic building. After a brief chat with the nurse at the intake desk, Jigen learned that Oscar no longer lived there. However, he’d left an address. All of Jigen’s postcards had been forwarded there. It took some convincing, but she gave it to him. 

Oscar still lived in the village. Jigen drove to his house and parked outside. Now that he was there, he hesitated. It had been two years of one-sided communication. He had no idea how Oscar was, or if he’d even want to see Jigen anymore. He was apparently well enough to live on his own, going by the neatly maintained garden around the house. It was just now dusk. The lights went on in the house. Jigen could see a little bit inside, and when he saw Oscar pause in front of a window, his breath left him all at once. 

His hair was a little shorter, but otherwise the same ash-colored curls. He wore a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, no necktie. Jigen watched as Oscar turned and smiled so brightly, that even before he saw the other man come into view, he knew that Oscar had moved on. He turned away as they leaned in to kiss one another, the other man holding Oscar with such tenderness that it made Jigen sick with envy. It wasn’t his place to interfere. If Oscar was happy, then Jigen was happy for him. Maybe he could believe it if he repeated it to himself enough. 

Instead of knocking on the door, Jigen simply set the little stuffed cat with its tiny fedora on the front step. He placed a postcard of Paris beside it with a phone number where Jigen could receive messages, and a post office box address. If Oscar wanted to reach him, now there were two ways. 

As he turned to leave, however, the door opened. Jigen froze. He heard the gasp, then thin yet strong arms wrapped around his waist as Oscar pressed his face into the back of Jigen’s shoulders. 

Then, just as quickly, he was released. Jigen turned to face Oscar. He was backlit by the yellow light spilling through the open door of his house, and up close Jigen could see that he’d put on some weight, filling out formerly gaunt cheeks. His eyes were wide, staring at Jigen as though he might vanish if he blinked. 

“Hi,” Jigen said. “You look well.”

Oscar cleared his throat and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. My name is Oscar Neville.”

Jigen was taken aback, until he remembered what Oscar had said in the cafe: _ “We’ll have to meet again someday, and do things properly. In the right order.” _

Maybe it was too late to do the rest over again, but he could do this much. Taking Oscar’s hand, he shook it once, firmly. “Daisuke Jigen. At your service.”

Then, Oscar smiled like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, and Jigen tugged on his hand to pull him into a proper hug. He saw the other man, the one who had kissed Oscar by the window, standing in the doorway in bewilderment. He held the plush toy and the postcard.

“Oscar?” he said uncertainly. Jigen released Oscar from his embrace, and they stepped back from one another. 

“Daisuke Jigen, this is Beau Avignon. He’s my…” Oscar grasped for a word. 

“Partner,” Beau provided helpfully, stepping forward to shake Jigen’s hand with a cautious smile. He was handsome, with kind brown eyes and dark wavy hair that came down to his chin. Clean-shaven, well-built. “So this is the famous Jigen. It’s nice to meet the man behind the postcards.”

“Ah, I’m glad they made it to you,” Jigen said to Oscar. To Beau, he said, “Sorry for the unexpected visit. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Don’t be silly. Oscar has told me a lot about you. I know you saved his life, and brought him here. If not for you, I would not have met him.” Beau’s smile warmed, and Jigen could see why a man like this would be a good match for Oscar. There was no dark past hanging over his head, no guile or treachery or cruelty in his eyes. He was everything Jigen could never have given Oscar. “Please, won’t you come in? We were just about to have dinner and I always make too much.”

Jigen opened his mouth to refuse, but Oscar took him by the hand and gave him that sunshine smile again. “Please, Daisuke? It’s been too long.”

_ Well, fuck. _ When he asked like that, how could Jigen refuse? “Dinner sounds great, thank you.”

  
  


_ -end- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it this far. If you, like me, feel like there’s more to Oscar’s story, please keep an eye out for the upcoming sequel. You can subscribe to the series and it’ll update you automatically once it posts. Take care!


End file.
